


Timey Tardis Files: Doctor Who ficlets & drabbles

by paynesgrey



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabbles, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-17
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 01:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 13,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paynesgrey/pseuds/paynesgrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of short ficlets and drabbles from the Doctor Who universe, mostly new series, but the classic Who might pop in as well. Various genres, pairings, and ratings apply. In-progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expert

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Amy/Eleven

Expert

The Doctor had the most amazing mouth Amy had ever seen. She considered herself somewhat of an expert on mouths, considering she was a kissogram. She had kissed many mouths, and they ranged from awful to surprisingly pleasant. Though, she suspected the Doctor's mouth (the way it sometimes defied the muscles in his face) was beyond classification. His mouth was so delightfully surreal that it yielded her a new hobby, and when he rambled off his stories, Amy examined his fascinating mouth, even at the potential of embarrassing herself.

She didn't care. A thousand meteors could shower past the open door of the TARDIS and Amy wouldn't notice, and she would watch him, her brow wrinkling as his mouth took in another whole fish stick drenched in custard, or how his lips would do this delightful pinching kiss as he sucked on some unworldly pistachio she'd never seen before.

"So," he smacked his lips loudly. His body swayed playfully as he approached her, and with his chin resting on his palm, he smiled devilishly and said, "How does someone become a kissogram?" Amy had to pull her gaze away from his lips to meet his eyes, which were rarely anything but bright.

"Oh, anyone can become a kissogram really," she said, throwing him a saucy look. She moved her lips and eyes in an exaggerated way, yet knowing full well she could never out-strange the Doctor. " _You_...could even be a kissogram."

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "I wonder if I do need of a career change." Well, now, he was just being cheeky.

Amy met his humor with a smile. "You'd be brilliant, Doctor, maybe overqualified." Her eyes fell to his delightful mouth again, and her tone softened. "You definitely have all the proper tools."


	2. Art Appreciation

Art Appreciation

Amy Pond had been doodling cartoons her entire life, especially of herself and the Doctor, and the hobby morphed into constructing dolls or playing make-believe with Rory or Jeff. Amy continued to draw - getting older didn't stop that, and now that she was actually going on adventures with the Doctor, it seemed only natural she would draw again.

To decorate the bedroom the Doctor gave her inside the TARDIS, she first drew the Star Whale, and when the drawing of her Star Whale seemed lonely, she drew a self-portrait with a much more defined Doctor, and she speckled the wall with little doodles and sketches. Once satisfied, she took a break and wandered off to search for that pool again. When she returned, her Star Whale picture was gone.

Curious, she approached the Doctor about her mystery. "Doctor, have you seen my..." She stopped. She had no idea how it would even turn up _here_ , but the Doctor's time machine was beyond extraordinary. She noticed the Star Whale affixed to the console in the middle, and she frowned.

"Oh, so you have it," she said, miffed and surprised.

"Ah, it suddenly popped up," the Doctor replied. When she met his eyes, she didn't doubt his innocence. He smiled patting the ship. "It seems _she_ likes it."

Amy looked around the ship in wonder, and she remembered the Doctor telling her that the TARDIS yielded a mind of its own. She sighed, resolving to let the ship keep her drawing. Quickly, she accepted that her picture was there and felt proud whenever she noticed it. A big disappointment came when their next adventure forced them into a rather tricky landing, and the distressed Doctor spilled tea all over it.

For the TARDIS, however, Amy was more than happy to draw another one.


	3. Canvas of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Amy/Eleven, Amy/Rory

Canvas of Time

This was _bad_.

The Doctor knew when Amy wrapped her willful body around his that he'd have to fight her off - gently, of course. This was _his_ Amy, for goodness sake, and she was obviously not herself.

She didn't completely understand him or how he saw her. Things appeared differently to him. His mind, both quick and encompassing, could not take the Amelia Pond just as she was right now because he saw all of her in an abstract state. She was both seven years old and a young woman with long legs and enviable ginger hair. He saw her as they first met, scared and wide-eyed, watching him curiously - relieved that he'd come to save her from the scary crack in her wall.

Blimey, she was getting married too, and there was no way in time and space he'd take that away from her. He could see that too - an older Amy, motherly, and tugging on ears of freckled russet-haired children (not his) but her life would move on; he explained this, and she would age, and he would only change, and down the road Amy would be behind him - and it would pull at his hearts (like Rose, like Sarah Jane, and the others), but time would remind him who he was, and on and on he would go.

It wasn't just that. He restrained her arms for now and stalled her energetic lips. He was tempted; really, what hot-blooded man wouldn't be? He'd adopted enough human emotions to recognize such things.

Yet something else bothered him. Something about Amy - predestined and poignant, with stalking cracks of time and significant wedding dates.

No, this was _beyond_ bad, more than what Amy wanted from him. Something was fractured - amiss, and he had to find some way to fix it.


	4. Rationale

Pairing: Amy/Eleven

Rationale

 

Soft, delicate hands were on him, riding up the soft material of his shirt. He sighed. The sensations bewildered him. He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't allow it, but some things, like custard, were too good at first taste. It left you wanting, just for a little bit more.

Maybe he was dreaming. His eyes blinked open, seeing ginger hair. (How did she find his room?) Those magnificent hands slid lower - _her_ hands, but her body leaned upward, her warm breath over his cheeks, and she smiled and watched him with mischievous eyes, delighting in the reactions on his face.

Rory was somewhere in the Tardis. He'll turn up, eventually - hopefully, but he wasn't here _now_ , and this was very bad, and the Doctor stared at Amy in shock.

"Amy..." _Stop it_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn't. This was how things began, the break from normal human life to an incomparable thrill of journeying by his side. He supposed it was his fault. He put people in danger, and he drew people toward him - to impress him? He hated how Rory'd been both right and wrong. It just wasn't about impression.

"Don't talk," she whispered, her fingers pressing over his lips.

"You can't," he warned, and it was the first rational thing he said since she'd woke him.

"Shhh..." She was touching him again, and he failed to muster the energy to resist. What was he doing? He was far too influenced by these humans; they had a curious rationale all on their own. Whatever it was, Amy continued her willful notion - this odd sort of clandestine consorting. No, he wouldn't have it.

He pulled away her hands, but he was thick. Damn it! Why didn't he even think about stopping her lips?


	5. Comfortable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Amy/Eleven

Comfortable

His head is in her lap, and they’re resting from a long day under the sun in Rio. Amy is still wearing her bikini, but it’s comfortable in the Tardis, and they’ve both found a sofa. With her dozing against the soft, cushy back and his head resting in her lap, his fingers move the pages of her book, a souvenir she found while checking out the local village.

It’s a dull keepsake, she knows, but she couldn’t resist the guide book, or the eager townsperson who sold it to her.

“Rubbish,” he says, and she keeps hearing it; though, he seems enraptured with the book even though the Doctor isn’t agreeing with every little historical fact.

 _And_ even though the Doctor is lying in her lap while she still wears her bikini; wonders never cease with him. It must be 900 some years of self-guardedness against scantily clad women.

That is until her eyes open startled, and his fingers are pawing through her red tendrils, wrapping them around his fingers as he inspects and contemplates.

“Have a thing for ginger hair, do ya?” she teases.

“Hrmm,” was the response; he seems all too calm. So does she – lost in their own warm thoughts, caught in a moment when they’re not running for their lives.

“I had another companion with red hair,” he says. He smiles wickedly, remembering. “She would kill me if I tried to lie in her lap.”

“Did she try?” Amy asks. Huh, so he does notice.

“I knew better not to try,” he says with a laugh, and Amy realizes what this is – _what they are_. It’s not guardedness the Doctor shows her.

No, he’s _comfortable_ with her, as if she were a significant part of him, like his Tardis, or even like his bow tie.

END


	6. Wherein Rory Encounters River Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Rory/Amy, Eleven/River

Wherein Rory Encounters River Song

The moment the Tardis crashed down, the door flung open from the outside, and a streak rushed past him right into the arms of the Doctor. Rory blinked and observed the new ornament on the Doctor's arm (a woman more than an ornament, but he wasn't completely sure), and he gaped at the wide-eyed vixen who turned her face from the Doctor to his.

"Well, now, who is this, sweetie?"

She called the Doctor _sweetie_ , and Rory couldn't help smirking. Although, all mirth died when the woman crept toward him, her long red nails clawing slowly out to him, leaving him to shrink away like a violet.

This woman was obviously _something_ special, and Rory had never seen the Doctor so unnerved. Amy beamed beside him. "Fancy seeing you again, Dr. Song."

She smiled sweetly at Amy briefly but continued to stare at Rory. Amy promptly introduced them, and Rory, unable to hold back his shock, pointed at her with a shaken finger when Amy happily addressed River as the Doctor's wife.

" _Future wife_ ," the Doctor said, and then he bit his lip, mortified and angered that he had called River his wife at all. "No, no, NO, not wife, just _future_..." The brilliant, willful Doctor, who usually made Rory look like rubbish in the face of danger, was at the moment completely tongue-tied.

"Future...sweetie," River corrected, offering her hand to Rory, which he obliged.

"Oh, that makes sense," Rory finally said, and River only grinned wider.

The Doctor, now very predatory, peered into Rory's face. "How does that make sense?"

"Uh...you're perfect for each other," Rory said. "You both seem completely mad." Amy nodded in total agreement.

The Doctor was at a loss, and Rory silently cheered for the end of his days as the obligatory third wheel.


	7. Future Scoundrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: River/Eleven

Future Scoundrel

He was staring a hole in her, eying the glittering green jewel she wore around her neck. She almost flinched at his touch, thinking he’d yank it off. Instead, he delicately moved her blonde curls aside and asked her accusingly, “Where did you get this?”

Oh, he _knew_ what it was. After all, the gem was famous throughout the whole universe. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was astounded and appalled. Would he turn her in? She wondered since he had been there when they retrieved it.

“Spoilers,” she said offhandedly, placing her hand over his grip. She smiled sweetly.

“River,” he said, sounding just like a scolding father. She lifted her chin.

“If you must know...” She smiled toothily. “We stole it together.”

“No,” he replied, drawing out the ‘o’ and laughing. He looked at her with disbelief, but she held her expression rigidly. He swallowed hard. “I would never!”

She tilted her head and grinned at him brightly. “Do you know… _that I know_ , that when you regenerate, your personality changes?” His face went white, and she chuckled. “You don’t really know how you’re going to act, or what you’ll be like from the next life and onto the one after that.”

The Doctor frowned morosely, but suddenly, he shot up in his seat. “No! I become a devil, a total scoundrel!” He turned to River and gripped her shoulders. “Tell me, is there anything I can do to prevent it?”

She couldn’t hold back her mirth anymore and laughed, and she ruffled his hair and felt a sense of warmth as his arms softly fell around her. “There’s nothing, Doctor. And honestly, you aren’t much different now, than then.”

His eyes widened and she added, “I suppose you’re almost a lost cause.”


	8. Hello Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Written for the "clue" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Pairing: River/Eleven. Word Count: 300. Rated PG.

Stirring, the Doctor blinks from an intrusive secondary heat. Of course, this planet is known for its hot scarlet sun and crystal beaches, but as fingers glide over his smooth naked skin, he immediately notices the invasion ghosting over him.

And he _knows_ her, her hands - or he should know them; the clues to her identity are all in the touch. Time, he’s always believed, is in no way linear, but his body responds to her, _whenever_ she’s from. He knows, whatever the order in which she’s hurt him, or loved him, it makes no difference. The spark passes through her fingers down the line of his bare chest, hovering just above the elastic band of his trim shorts.

When he feels her lips just below his navel, he opens his eyes, looking up at her as she stands, the blinding sun creating a pink halo around her curves and wild hair.

“Quite a way to say hello,” he remarks amused.

“You’re complaining?” she asks, and he never forgets how much he loves the dancing in her voice.

“No, no, unless ...” He pauses and rises onto his elbows. “This is a pretense for a favor, a dangerous mission where the world is at stake and I may lose a limb or a companion, or -- something far worse.”

The breeze blows through her hair. “It could be,” she says cryptically, a smile still within her voice.

“Well, then,” the Doctor says with a sigh. “In that case, Dr. Song...” He plops back onto the sand, enjoying the last few minutes of his sunbathing before River Song drags him away again. “Why don’t you do that again?”

He closes his eyes in expectation, and he hears her settle next to him onto the sand.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	9. Before We Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounded, Amy has a last request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "ouch" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. No spoilers. Ship: Amy/Eleven. Word Count: 300.

Amy thinks she might die today. Well, she supposes every day is like that since she’s started traveling with the Doctor. They’ve had their good days, their not-so good days, and really terrible days, like today.

They’re trapped here and she can’t move. The fires have burnt her legs, and they hurt like mad, and if only the Doctor would stop touching them out of worry, she may find some semblance of ease.

Only she can’t, not when she thinks she’s already dying. Not when Rory could be dead somewhere else when he was separated from them and fell into the group they were supposed to save from this burning planet.

Predictably, the Doctor isn’t giving up. She wouldn’t either if she could move but she feels so helpless, and she hates feeling like this, not when she’s brandished swords and shot futuristic guns and saved people all by herself, with the Doctor babbling about science in the background.

“Ouch!” she exclaims, as the Doctors shakes her shoulder. Any cause of movement makes her wounded body ache.

“Sorry, Pond, we’ll fix you up when we get back to the Tardis,” he assures.

“When will that be?”

“Soon, I hear them outside, trying to blast through the rock,” he says with a smile. She doesn’t know if she can believe him.

“Doctor, if you and I are were going to die in here,” she says, coughing, “Wouldn’t you fancy one last shag?”

His look mirrors her own feelings in this, it’s both wanting and knowingly forbidden, and while he doesn’t answer her, he leans down and kisses the top of her head.

“No one dies today, Amelia,” he says encouragingly. Amy chokes out a laugh. She hates, even in hopeless times as these, when she knows that the Doctor is right.


	10. Killer Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "hair" theme on gen_drabble at Livejournal.

At first, River Song hated her hair. It was naturally curly and unmanageable, and more than anything, it drew attention she didn’t always want.

Growing up, she learned to appreciate her hair, and she soon realized that others seemed to enjoy it as well. Sure, men were mesmerized by the wildness of it, and yearned to weave their fingers through it, but they would never risk the pain.

Her hair was also a handy distraction. Her enemies were so taken in by the wonder of her curls, that in that split second, she had already drawn her gun on them.


	11. A Time for Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "ouch" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal.

Rory watches the TARDIS clean up the mess, and he says nothing, and in all his 900 years the Doctor doesn’t know what to say.

He knows what they must _do_ , and the TARDIS has set them on their course, and the Doctor knows he should be planning, investigating and getting started on this mission to rescue Amy Pond.

But he has one thing left to do first.

He rounds the control panel of the TARDIS and finds Rory sitting on a bench, his back turned to him. He supposes the man is crying, and the Doctor would let him cry - alone, but he _can’t_ , not now when he’s hurting too.

Both men share love for Amy Pond; both men want to rescue her and see her captors pay.

The Doctor comes behind him, settling softly next to Rory on the bench. His thigh grazes against Rory’s and the man doesn’t even shift or move. The Doctor puts a cautious arm around his companion and feels the inevitable flinch before Rory relaxes and leans against him. He hears the sobs, almost silent like whispers, but the pain he senses, the thoughts he hears in Rory’s head - it’s all too excruciating, so much the Doctor can barely handle it in addition to his own pain, but he lets him in. He lets the man cry against him.

“Oh, Rory, Rory,” he bemoans, drawing him closer. Rory meets his eyes, desperate and pleading, and most certainly - angry, longing for revenge. The Doctor knows this look, the wildness born out of it - the precursor to war.

“We’ll find her; we’ll get her back. I promise you.” The Doctor nuzzles his forehead against Rory's, and he nods as the Doctor takes his hand, feeling the tears fall against his skin.


	12. A Painted Blue Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "night" theme at who_contest on Livejournal. Word count: 300. Pairing: younger Amy & Rory. No spoilers.

Rory looked up at the clear night sky, stars winking back at him as he tried to imagine Amy's Raggedy Doctor, traveling somewhere throughout the galaxy.

“Come on!” she yelled at him, and Rory didn't know why he was here, not when his mum and dad were going to kill him for sneaking out of his house more than past his bedtime to play games with that Pond girl.

But _that Pond girl_ was very hard to deny.

He met her eyes, and she looked cross with him. She was poking her head out of the make-shift cardboard door, and he couldn't help but be impressed with it. Just five hours ago it was just a big box that held Jeff's mum's new icebox, and the moment Amy saw it, she snatched it up before it even made its way into the rubbish. Now it was painted blue, like the police box that Amy claimed her Doctor traveled inside.

“Let's go on adventures!” Amy said, grabbing his hand. Quickly she pulled him inside it. Rory could hear Amy breathing, and he suddenly realized how cramped they were in this box.

“Hey...” He heard her say, and instantly, he found her much closer to him than he'd remembered. He felt a brush of lips against his, and after the shock, Rory leaned forward and kissed back. When he pulled apart, he furrowed his brow.

“Should you really be snogging the Doctor?” he asked, not liking the idea of Amy fancying someone else over him, especially someone imaginary.

“Stupid! I wasn't kissing the Doctor,” she told him fiercely. “I was kissing _you_!” Roughly, Amy snogged him again, within this cardboard box painted blue, if only to thank him for putting up with all this.

Mood: accomplished accomplished


	13. Lovely Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds River Song doing yoga in the TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Balance" theme at who_contest at Livejournal. Pairing: River/Eleven. Rated PG. Word count: 375.

When the Doctor found her, River was doing yoga in one the rooms of the TARDIS. The Doctor had never seen this room before, as if it were brand new and recently concocted to fit River’s specifications on the perfect fitness setting. Of course, when it came to River and the TARDIS, new rooms and such never surprised him.

It was as if the two of them were always conspiring against him.

The door to her room slid closed, and the Doctor leaned against the wall, observing her. River noticed him in a sideways glance, and she smirked. “Hello, sweetie,” she said, gracefully moving through a Sun Salutation. The Doctor watched the motions with intrigue, trying to not be distracted.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I just came to ask where you wanted to head next,” he said in a soft tone, his eyes glittering as they followed her movements.

“I’m thinking Hyspero. I have some shopping to do,” she said, coming into a Cobra.

“Hrmm,” he said, barely making an audible noise. “Lovely form you have there. I see taking you to ancient India for a spell was definitely worthwhile.” She caught the sarcasm in his voice. “For one of us anyway.”

“Aw, it must have really killed you to satiate this archeologist’s curiosity of that time,” she said, and she leaned backward with her hands high in the air, catching his eyes after maintaining a quite limber and advanced stretch. “You know, you could join me instead of standing there ogling me. You do need some help with balance; you’re always stumbling and tripping about. It’ll be more than good for you.”

“No, no, I’d rather watch, thanks,” he said, still entranced by her movements.

“In more ways than one,” she drawled saucily, moving into another pose and regulating her breathing steadily throughout their chat.

“Ah, let me guess - _spoilers_ ,” he returned teasingly, his eyes still transfixed. He moved away from the wall, feeling himself drawn to her.

River finished, turning to him and resting a towel over her shoulder. She placed a hand on his chest as he neared her. She grinned and met his excited gaze. “Well, yes, spoilers indeed.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “But not for long.”


	14. Poor Little Paradox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Eighth Doctor Audio Adventures, Storm Warning specifically. Characters: Eight, Charley Pollard. Rating: G. Word Count: 328.
> 
> I just finished Season 1 of the BFAs with the Eighth Doctor, so this was kind of something inspired by the end of Minuet in Hell. Written for the "burn" drabble theme at who_contest on Livejournal.

He tries not to think about it, on how she’s not supposed to be here. Charlotte Pollard should be _dead_ , her life burning out as just another casualty in the R101 crash.

 _You stupid old man_ , he chides himself. He had to go and interfere. He had to save _her life_. He constantly second guesses himself. Maybe he’s seeing this all wrong. Perhaps it isn’t as bad as he suspects.

Maybe he was even supposed to be there to save her. Time may not even notice that he’s created a paradox, that Charley travels around with him unknowingly as far greater threats come for her, worse than death. How important to the order of the universe could Charley really be?

He’s afraid he’s cursed her. Still, it’s easier for the Doctor to deny anything wrong in it, even ignore it while he distracts her and whisks her away to explore other planets, other futures and pasts, and the beautiful sights within the depths of space.

No, he’s the fool. Poor Charley is just the victim, and as long as she stays with him, she’s worse off. The evidence is becoming clearer too, and Charley’s not stupid. She’ll realize soon enough herself what he’s really done - what she _is_.

Can he take her back? Surely not. He can’t undo the mess he’s already created. Perhaps he will only make it worse.

“Oh, Doctor, you really are a stupid old man,” he mutters to himself. Charley is sleeping peacefully in her room within the TARDIS, blissfully unaware of the internal dilemma he’s facing.

“And she won’t know, not yet, and hopefully not ever,” he promises himself, and he suddenly feels silly. “I’m always talking to myself,” he scoffs. “It really _is_ a bad habit.”

But his bad habits are nothing compared to what he’s done to Charley. Is she better off dead? He has doubts, but the Doctor still doesn’t think so. The Universe, however, may disagree with him.


	15. To Bring Him Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia wants to bring her Doctor back, so she lures him with food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "baking" theme at who_contest on Livejournal. Characters: Amy, Eleven. Word Count: 300. Series 5.

It’s been a week since her Raggedy Doctor disappeared after he promised to take her with him through time. Amelia begins to lose hope again, but an idea strikes her to bring him back - lure him with food.

First, she makes fish fingers and custard. She thinks that’ll be easy enough to bring him back, so she bakes the fish sticks and begs Aunt Sharon to make the custard, and she sits and waits for him - hoping he’ll be drawn out of his time machine into her kitchen.

The Doctor doesn’t come, and Amelia Pond stuffs herself with too many fish fingers and custard.

She doesn’t give up. She tries the next week. And the next, until her Aunt Sharon thinks she’s gone mad.

She makes the dish so much, Amelia gets sick of it. The Doctor fails to come, and the only thing she really succeeds at is a distaste for fish fingers and custard altogether.

It isn’t until he finally returns and brings it up that Amy remembers she’d made the disgusting dish at all. He’s grinning at her, jubilantly spinning them around the TARDIS.

“What do you say, Amy? Let’s reminisce and cook up some fish fingers and custard?” He beams at her excitedly and Amy makes a sour face. Instantly, the Doctor’s glee disappears.

She feels bad, but her stomach lurches to the idea. She’s been waiting so long for her Raggedy Doctor, and though she’s still bitter he left her, could she really refuse his request?

She nods hesitantly, but she crosses her arms and meets his eyes sternly. “You do know I grew out of this, don’t you?”

“Oh, come on, Amy!” The Doctor says, putting his arm around her and drawing her close. “You should never do that! Now, let’s eat!”


	16. Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor happens upon a younger Rose Tyler, who already knows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Kiss" theme at who_contest on Livejournal. Word Count: 500. Characters: Eleventh Doctor, young Rose Tyler. Rated: Gen.

The Doctor, of course, was never to meet his other selves in time; though, it was just as tricky to avoid running into his past companions, and sometimes he would be blindsided by such surprising serendipity. 

Like now, when a small girl of blond braids framing her face collided against him, squeezing her arms around his lanky legs, almost throwing him off-balance.

“Dr. Smithe!” she cried, and he looked down and his blood turned cold when he met the eyes of a younger Rose Tyler. She had to be no more than eleven - maybe twelve, and she had obviously met him before.

 _Right, timey-whimey stuff_ , he told himself.

Her eyes danced as she stared at him. “You’re still wearing that silly bow tie!” she exclaimed, and the Doctor was still processing why she was here - or why _he_ was even here.

_Why did the TARDIS bring me here? It seems that Rose needs me, but why?_

“Rose Tyler,” he said breathlessly. She giggled at him.

“You always say my full name,” she commented demurely. “You came back. You said you wouldn’t, but that...”

He had guessed. He was sure his future self had told her something vague and impossible that he may come back to her, but she wouldn’t really know. Or, like some of his other companions that he stumbled upon like this, he would break their hearts and tell them they’d never see him again.

“Rose.” He bent down to hug her now, and she chattered wildly at him, asking him if he would help her with her Math homework again, or if he’d steal her away to the park, just so she could get some peace away from her mum.

In his hug, he kissed her temple and he felt her relax against him. Stiffening, he felt scared at how close his future self had gotten to her. “Rose,” he said forlornly. “I have to go, but I just...popped by to see if you were doing okay.” He hated lying, but he had to make a break.

“But you can’t. You came at the perfect time!” she exclaimed. “I need your help. You remember those girls I told you about?”

He didn’t but he nodded. He had a feeling “those girls” were bullying _his_ Rose.

“Well, they’ve followed me. I ran and saw you, and I knew that if you were with me...” She stopped and suddenly froze, setting her eyes on a trio of larger, older girls who eyed Rose like hungry wolves. The Doctor took her hand and pulled her close.

“Come along, Rose Tyler,” he said, feeling instantly invincible and ready to protect Rose no matter what. She leaned closer to him, nodding against his side. “Let’s go.”

 _This was it_ , he thought, and he knew that he was supposed to be here. The universe wouldn’t split apart at this one moment. 

He would take this one last adventure with Rose Tyler and any more that Time would so generously allow.


	17. Our Precarious Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he kisses her, he only sees light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor/River ficlet; 230 words. Rated PG. Written for the "Light" prompt at who-contest on Livejournal.

When he kisses her, he sees nothing but light. Always, like the universe changing and forming all over again before him. Backward and forward, he feels it when he holds her - the impact of matter, the surge of fire and the swirling of dust before it all explodes anew.

He doesn’t know why, or how. He’s been with others, but it was never like this. He can’t put his finger on the safety in it. There is no completion where he can weigh his thoughts, no assurance there is a middle between this beginning and end.

 _I’ve seen you die, River_ , he thinks automatically when he meets her eyes. It’s a fixed point he cannot (nor wouldn’t) change. The end result is clear, but the journey - well, it never is, nor ever will be.

Drawing him back, she kisses him again as his thoughts engulf him like a flare. 

_There is still time_ , he thinks - too optimistically. How many times are left for them? There are possibilities, and the risk in it, the allure of them fills his chest with hopeful warmth. 

So many in-betweens and sideways, a complicated and precarious dance all over the web of time.

Pulling her closer, tighter - she smiles into his lips.

 _If that’s the case_ , he muses through a joyful haze. _Better not waste another second of it._


	18. Treasured Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through it all, Oswin treasures her humanity the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "treasures" prompt for who-contest on Livejournal.

Oswin pulls a forlorn souffle out of the oven, frowns, and sighs unhappily at another failed experiment. She does not know what she's doing wrong, but she's a genius, so she's confident she can someday get it _right_ \- and make a dish that she knows will make her mum proud.

She turns to the ingredients on the counter. The milk sits room temperature and almost empty, flour dusts the counter and stove-top, and she puts the bowl in the sink and begins to clean her used dishes.

She'll work on this recipe all over again - as always, and she's sure somehow, sometime, she'll make it perfect.

~*~

The music shrills in her head like a drowning scream. It's less comforting today, and Oswin purses her lips, glares at the door, and hates that the Daleks are quite persistent this time. They bang at the door, and she hears that cold, mechanical echo in her brain, scorching her every nerve.

She settles into her hammock, pulls the pillow over her ears, and closes her eyes.

She thinks of home, of successful souffles, and even of her first kiss.

_Something_ to keep the endless chatter and threats away.

~*~

Oswin dreams in numbers. Cold, endless equations that sometimes scare her because she knows everything, all at once, instantly and without doubt.

When Oswin dreams of formulas, it feels as though she's losing a piece of herself. Her heart turns a little colder around the edges when she solves a new, difficult theorem or can devise another seemingly impossible way to hack into another Dalek firewall.

It's invigorating to be this smart. Her mum would be so proud of her. But more and more, day after day, the supposed and expected praise of humans no longer gives her comfort, even if she is so terribly alone.

Oswin being a genius - well, it's just something that _is_.

~*~

She schedules her endless days accordingly, and Oswin always has a plan, a routine. Like clockwork, she knows the exact time when the Daleks come for her, slamming into her door and trying to get into her sanctuary, always seeping their way into her head.

So she has a plan. At least once a day she makes a souffle, and she imagines the look on her mum's face when she presents the perfectly made dish.

And when some experiments fail, and some are barely mediocre, Oswin settles into her hammock, she stares at the ceiling and turns on her voice recorder. She scribes another letter to her mum, and she looks around at the room of her treasures, her sanctuary, and thoughtfully she reminds herself that she will be rescued. She's not that alone, and soon, someday, she won't be. 

She will survive. The Daleks may continue to force themselves into her head, and she may continually try to push them out, either awake or asleep... but she still has _herself_.

Oswin may be lonely, but at least, she thinks, she's still human.

And though her genius is her most useful gift, her humanity is the one thing she treasures most.

~*~

The next day Oswin brings out the ingredients from the cupboards and the fridge (that she designed and built herself) and she begins the recipe all over again. She tweaks it, as always, trying to improve on what went wrong the day before, and the day before that.

The milk sits full and new on her counter, fresh, and stamped with an expiration date for two weeks.

She sets everything out in front of her and thinks of her mum, of when she used to stand behind her and rattle off the ingredients in order to mix.

Then, Oswin begins again.


	19. She Could Have Said Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he asked her to come with him, Grace could have said yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Yes" theme at who_contest at LJ.

She watched him leave, her eyes trailing from his soft blond hair kissed by a breeze and tracing down the pattern of his velveteen coat. Fireworks spattered in the sky bursting with celebratory color. Time seemed to slow for her, and though she sort of wanted it to stop, to hold onto this precious moment she’d never forget - meeting the Doctor and having this adventure with him, she couldn't.

Being with him had been riveting and scary and mostly - _impossible_ , more than anything. She’d learned a lot of things since she’d met him, about herself, and about what was really capable in the world.

Her heart ached a little bit. Grace Holloway had met a man that she could see herself with, a man easy to fall for but hard to compare to anyone else.

When he’d asked her to come with him, she almost jumped at the chance. Tempting, he’d said, when she’d asked for him to come with _her_. 

But her life was not for him, and if anything, _his_ life was the tempting one.

She wondered how many people, starry-eyed and full of wonder, that he’d ask to come join him on his journeys. Though, she’d like to think she was special in a way, and the press of his lips still ghosted over hers, tempting her further to throw away everything and go off with this impossible, thrilling man.

But she couldn’t, not while learning the things the Doctor had showed her and knowing she’d escaped death for one more chance to do something right in this world. So, she couldn’t go with him. She wanted to; admittedly, saying yes would have been the easy part.

Yet, Grace felt a pinch of hesitation which slowly turned into resolve. She couldn’t go, even knowing a life with him would be more wonderful than she could ever imagine.

She had to stay here and help people, using the gifts and talents she was given. She could help and change so many lives, here, just as the Doctor had done for hers.


	20. Misery in His Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia Pond was his light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "trace" challenge for who_contest on Livejournal. Characters: Amy, the Doctor. Rated: G. Word Count: 370. Spoilers for "The Angels take Manhattan".

Oh, Amelia Pond...

She had been his beginning, in this life anyway, and now he’d lost her, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’d tried to travel, of course, to soldier through his misery, his hopelessness, to wherever the TARDIS would take him.

Without Amy Pond, worlds seemed dull to him - the life sucked out of everything, shadows mean rather than exciting, and the warmth of new friendships bitter and futile.

He’d thought he’d seen traces of her, that the universe was toying with him. He’d spotted the crop of red hair in a crowd of strangers that always needed to be saved, or the loud, deep laughter of a woman in love behind him, an echo like a reverberating memory.

Obviously, there had been others before Amy. They were tucked away, tight in his memories too - of other lifetimes, his continuous spiral of triumphs and failures, of sacrifices and endings. He’d loved and lost, a scar healing over the dead skin of other scars, over and over again.

But Amy had been his light. He’d remembered her youthful face after becoming anew, so hopeful and sure he could help her when she hadn’t known him at all.

She’d waited for him, despite everything he’d done. She was his closest friend. Amy Pond had shaped his world for this lifetime. Losing her was losing a part of himself.

He’d felt it everyday. He’d travel, alright, and when River had departed, begging him to find someone to keep him sane, he wanted to spite her and resist. But he couldn’t say no to River, not to the daughter of his best friend.

But could he repeat that cycle all over again? Could he heal only to have his hearts break again? In his miserable thoughts, Amy’s light haunted him.

Of course he would. The Doctor always did.

As the Doctor departed the TARDIS, he walked down a staircase out into the snowy landscape of a graveyard. The air danced and crackled about, and strange presences eddied around him.

Walking on, he’d left that graveyard, with broken statues quietly crumbling in his wake. The Doctor would move forward, or at least he _tried_ , for Amy’s sake.


	21. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor may want to die this time, but he's rescued anyway. Clara, Eighth Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, character death. Spoilers for "The Name of the Doctor."  
> Notes: Kind of AU-ish. I've read that Clara met the Eighth Doctor possibly in a park around palm trees, but I like to think of an incarnation of Clara meeting Eight around the later part of his life. Written for the "Beauty" theme at who_contest on Livejournal. Oh, and there might be a slight nod to a certain other sci-fi series in this.

Smoke and bile burned his lungs, but the Doctor felt too defeated to care. Shouts echoed around him, and he could hear the ship groan and wheeze as it crumbled apart. 

He had to get back to the TARDIS, but he couldn’t move, and in some way, he was content to die here. He’d seen enough suffering, and maybe he owed some sort of debt for the ones he’d lost. _Susan, Charley, Lucie..._

The Doctor accomplished some good. He’d saved an entire planet, but then some sort of creature, a black shadow with a white mask of hissing teeth pushed him into a pipe bursting with scalding steam. 

“Doctor! Get up!” Shouted a voice he didn’t quite recognize. _Sarah Jane? Peri?_ No... Was it his imagination?

He felt someone lifting him up and supporting him. She grunted from his weight, but she was determined.

“Who...?” he asked, and he found it amusing that he was the one asking “who” and not the stranger for once. 

“Ensign Oswald at your service, sir. I assume you have to get off this heap and back to your own ship?” she asked. She was Federation, but he didn’t remember meeting an Ensign Oswald on this ship.

“Blue box...” He mumbled, and he swore he breathed “TARDIS” several times, like a mantra of coming home. Who was he fooling? He had to return to the TARDIS. He had to _live_.

She carried him along without fuss, and when he’d arrived at the the TARDIS door, he fumbled unsuccessfully within his leather pockets for his key. Resting on the side of the TARDIS, he cursed.

“No worries,” Oswald said brightly, and he finally turned and looked at her since she’d saved him. She eyed the TARDIS and grinned. “Come on, you old hag. You know what to do. He’s dying so you better open up.”

The door creaked open, almost annoyed.

Astonished but too weak to investigate further, the Doctor stepped inside. He turned back to the girl, pleased to find a beautiful face framed by that tight, Federation hairstyle.

He heard a clamoring down the hallway, and despite his pain and blurred vision, he watched her step in front of him, waiting for whatever disturbance was coming their way.

“Ensign Oswald...”

Without fear, she stood rigidly as vengeful voices came closer. He saw her shoulders tense and relax as she breathed. “Go, Doctor, you have to _run_.”

“Thank you,” he managed, not knowing what to say or feel about what she was doing. Hesitating, the Doctor slipped inside into the comfort of the TARDIS, his wounds already healing. 

Startled, his body jerked when he’d heard gunshots. Panicked, he’d turned back to the door, hoping the girl had not sacrificed herself so he could escape.

Before he could turn back, the TARDIS had already made up her mind and revved the engines. Feeling the weight of the strange, impossible girl’s sacrifice, the Doctor closed his eyes solemnly as the TARDIS plummeted them into time and space.


	22. The Quiet Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and the Doctor find a quiet moment to stargaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Air" drabble challenge at who-contest on Livejournal.

Rose inhaled the crisp evening air, and she felt the Doctor’s elbow rub against her. She sighed. The sky was different here, an alien planet much like Earth, peaceful with cleaner air and ancient stories that shaped its color and vitality.

The Doctor brought her here to visit a carnival and relax after all the trouble and mystery they’d been chasing. That had been fun too, well, more fun than working as a shop assistant, but there was nothing wrong with a little respite.

They enjoyed the carnival, the weird Vaudeville-like shows (who knew a magician that could transport his head into other spaces of the stage?) and the topsy-turvy rides. Oh, and the food! So many fried cakes and flavors she’d never experienced before.

The sensations were so overwhelming she almost got lost in it. Yet, there were moments she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder, getting ready for the danger she’d become so used to while traveling with the Doctor. 

After all the bustling sounds and lights, Rose and the Doctor sneaked away to a round hill in a clearing so they could stargaze on the clear starry night. And it wasn’t any boring stargazing; the patterns and points of the stars were different here - reminding her that this wasn’t Earth. She was on an alien planet that somewhat felt like home.

She wondered if the Doctor felt that way whenever he visited Earth.

The Doctor had been quiet for a little bit, and Rose knew he wasn’t just gazing at the stars. She was sure he could see beyond them, and that he knew the stories and he could probably see entire solar systems being born and then dying all at once. 

The quiet was nice, and Rose liked imagining the things the Doctor knew. She also knew it was driving him bonkers not to speak, to spin tales and wow her with all the knowledge bursting from inside him. 

But she preferred the silence and the cool air. She wanted to relax just once, and not get her heart invested in someone else’s plight. And sometimes it was nice to just look at the stars.

He lifted his arm, and she saw him point at a cluster of stars that looked like a lotus. “That system there…” 

She grabbed his hand and pulled it at their sides, still clutching it as she interlaced their fingers. He turned toward her and she smiled. “That’s okay. We can just enjoy them like this.”

He nodded and smiled, and the stories went to sleep for now. He turned his head to the skies, and Rose did the same.

His hand was still in hers, and they watched a red star pulsing above them, a silent song of tranquility.


	23. Can't Forget You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t forget her; she plagues his mind randomly and unexpectedly and sends his senses through crippling grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Amy/Elven, theme: Random, 507 words, rated PG

His sweet Amelia Pond. He can’t forget her; she plagues his mind randomly and unexpectedly and sends his senses through crippling grief. 

When he sees a crop of red hair in the crowd of strangers, he feels excited - for a moment, and then he remembers that his Amelia is lost in time, that this red hair can’t be hers. It’s cruel to be sure; he can never see her again, hear her laughter or feel the soft skin of her palm on his cheek.

“My raggedy man,” she’d say, a low and husky tone that stirred excitement within him, a sultry but wondrous feeling that makes him feel young again. She’s made him feel impossible, like he’d been born again just to whisk her away on adventures. His fabulous Amy Pond; she’s been his purpose for so long.

The sadness almost stamps out the happiness of knowing her sometimes, but the Doctor doesn’t let it win. It’s hard for him, to curb the anger and regret he weighs on himself. He thinks he fails her - like he does so many others in all his lives, but he was sure - _so sure_ \- Amy wasn’t going to be like the others. _She deserves a good ending,_ he thinks, when he knows he never wants Amy to have an ending at all. He wants to hold her and keep her safe near him, but he knows his Amy will never stand for it.

A memory settles with him; the one time where she is resting over his lap reading a fashion magazine as they soak up the warm rays of a tropical planet. She’s wearing a red bikini that matches her hair, and the Doctor has to remind himself to busy the air with stories rather than stare at her, touch her, or allow himself the desires in which he feels unworthy.

But he’s content, and the memory lingers with him, and thinking of Amy Pond warms him as he wanders the cold and icy Victorian streets trying to make peace with his demons, to find some reprieve from the lingering sadness that is losing his Amy Pond.

Maybe he never will; Perhaps Amy will always be with him.

“She doesn’t have to leave you. It isn’t always goodbye,” the specter of River Song tells him. “No one has to leave you. We’re always here for you. _I’m_ here for you.”

He knows, but it doesn’t make it all seem less intangible. 

No, the Doctor must move on. “Goodbye, Raggedy Man,” he hears Amy whisper. There’s peace in her words.

“Not yet,” he says, as he clutches his grief, his memories, and his anger just a little longer.

“I won’t lose you yet.”

He can see River Song smiling sadly beside him. Silence fills the landscape as cold snow falls. He can feel his next chapter beginning, but Amy Pond is always there with him. It was the first face this body saw, and until this body’s last breath, she can never leave his hearts.

End


	24. Empty Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy feels the ache of something missing. Takes place after "Cold Blood".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Pleasure" drabble challenge at who-contest at Livejournal. Amy/Rory hinted, Amy Pond, Eleventh Doctor, Series 5.

The Doctor takes her everywhere, and Amy sees things that she’s never dreamed of seeing, and she’s certain that she could fill books with the sorts of alien life and adventures they've shared.

She loves every moment of it, every planet, every strange story and every historical wonder. Yet, despite her happiness at spending time with the Doctor and traveling to unknown worlds, she finds her pleasure in it a bit hollow at times.

Amy can feel a sense of loneliness from it all, that she’s missing something important in her life. 

She can’t remember, and the notion gnaws at her brain and grates at her nerves. Her heart feels a sense of longing for something - _someone maybe_ , that she cannot shape. Whenever she tries, she gives herself a headache and only ends up with darkness.

She looks to the Doctor, always fussing after her and pulling her on some adventure or trip that fills up her head and prevents her from dreaming too much - exhausting her to wariness, where she falls onto her bed in the TARDIS and has nothing but dreamless sleep.

But it isn’t always dreamless. Amy sometimes dreams of a faceless man with an enduring voice full of humor and challenge. She dreams of a warm touch, and a desire so safe and deep she wants to nestle into it and never come back.

At first, she thinks she has unexplained feelings for the Doctor, but that isn’t it. That isn’t what the dreams are about. The Doctor isn’t missing in her life. The Doctor doesn’t give her the kind of pleasure that fills the hollowness inside her.

He tries, and he looks at her with those sad, haunted eyes, but the Doctor cannot fill her loneliness when he has a universe of loneliness all of his own.

He helps. Being with him soothes her a little and gives her peace. 

When he leads her to room in the TARDIS that night, he stops by to tuck her in, much as she imagined him doing when she was a girl, and he kisses the top of her head.

“Sweet dreams, Amelia Pond.” His eyes are as sad as his voice.

She grabs his hand before he can go. She doesn’t want to meet the lonely shadows alone anymore. She doesn’t want to go to bed feeling the emptiness without someone by her side to share it. 

“Please, I don’t want to be alone.” Before she realizes it, Amy is crying again and the tears are running down her cheeks. She doesn’t know what’s happening, and she doesn’t know why the Doctor looks at her with such guilt every time she cries like this.

Does he know the piece she is missing? Does the Doctor know what she has lost?

END


	25. Ashes and Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was too frightened, and he yearned to be soothed. 12, 12/Clara, 12/River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "River" drabble challenge at who_contest.

The fires had cooled, and as his new form adjusted, his mind declared war on his body. He wanted to fight sleep, but there was too much that he couldn’t quite grasp. 

The dinosaur screamed and moaned outside, and he felt every urge to help her, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. It was too new - _and old_ , he supposed, but too different and unmolded. His own thoughts were so jumbled that he found it difficult discerning his own mind from everyone else’s.

Voices buzzed around him like bees, stinging and combing at his ears.

_Regeneration_ \- like a phoenix from the ashes. He’d lived so long last time. He’d worn a young face for countless years, but his heart, his brain, and his insides had aged and withered.

Jumbled memories were like chaotic scabs, painful and scarring over. Fury screamed in his blood when his past was finally locked in place, old haunts screaming anew. Was the TARDIS near him? Could she feel his pain of putting himself back together, a broken Doctor and so far from home?

He smelled tears, and he wondered if the broken heart he felt was one of his two, or someone else’s. Then, Clara’s thoughts assaulted his, and though he was sleeping - and just living in this state, he could hear her words. He wondered if that really was Clara next to him, holding his hand as he slept. 

Maybe she was an impostor. _His Clara_ wouldn’t reject him. She wouldn’t feel such doubts.

“Give her time, sweetie,” said a recognizable whisper, and he wondered when she would show up - whether she was a ghost again or just another renewed memory in his head. He missed her touch, wishing she was here to hold him - to piece together his ruins, and chase away his demons and fears.

If River trusted Clara, shouldn’t he wait, as she said, and believe in his impossible girl?

_Clara, Clara, Clara…_ he chanted like a mantra within his mind, in a voice he barely recognized, worn by time and mistakes, encased in a Scottish lilt. His voice had become as unrecognizable as his face. (Or maybe everyone else’s voices were wrong?)

Memories dangled in a void, still out of his reach. His heart was aching, feeling a weight and burden from centuries of denial that he couldn’t bear before. Would he bear it all now?   
He wondered if this face, these lines and this old voice were lessons for him. Maybe someday he would understand the meaning of the way this body formed, this new life-cycle given by the Timelords - maybe as a gift, maybe as a curse.

He was too frightened to go on alone, and there was too much responsibility. 

He could feel Clara sob, squeeze his hand, and pause before the room went cold. Darkness played like an echoing melody in the hallways of his endless mind.

At the end, only redemption beckoned him to step over the mines of his fears. Only resolve pulled him forward. He reached out his hand and hoped that familiar, grounding presence would stay by his side, sliding her warm hand into his. 

_Clara._

He sniffed the room, and then he roused to the cries outside. The Doctor sniffed again, smelling Clara and chalk.

END


	26. Balm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He comes when he needs her. River x Twelve, post-"Kill the Moon", series 8. 500 words. Rated PG.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "accent" challenge at who-contest at Livejournal.

She heard his footsteps approaching her cell, but immediately River knew something was different.

“I wondered when you’d come,” she’d said as he’d approached her cell. Her eyes raked over him, slowly traveling from the long expanse of his dark pants and up his suit jacket. She’d noticed the crimson lining of his coat, realizing her Doctor - in his new incarnation - appreciated subtlety.

She noted the short gray hair and the weathered lines of his face, accented by his smooth smile. She met his eyes, and she saw a familiar loneliness and sadness. She’d sensed something else about him, a darkness that made her shudder once his hand closed over hers against the prison bars.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he said, his voice thick with a Scottish lilt. _Well, that was new,_ she thought. 

“Missed me, didn’t you?” she asked with a sultry smile. She wanted to explore him, to get to know him all over again in this new body. _Her Doctor_ , but something was different. This version felt more removed than ever before. 

“I probably shouldn’t be here, but Clara…”

“Ah, companion problems,” she said. “So this is where you come when you’re sulking.”

“Yes, but perhaps I shouldn’t,” he said. Their fingers still entwined against the bars, and miraculously, they were stuck in a silence of the prison. No alarms dared interrupt them. No one braved to disturb them.

She said, “You _always_ should, even when you know it’s dangerous. I’m afraid for you, sweetie. I don’t want you traveling alone.”

He let out a rueful laugh. Emotions were barricaded tightly behind his gruff expression and imposing stature. However, River Song wasn’t fooled. She remembered times where he would break down in her arms, wrapped together in only their warmth. Memories saturated his bones, and lifetimes - his and his companions - had haunted him like heavy ghosts. 

She was a balm to his sores, a quell to his storms.

Letting go of his touch, she stood back and gathered her bag and coat. “Alright then, it’s a date.” 

She watched as he released her from her cell with his sonic screwdriver. He held out his hand to lead her to the welcoming TARDIS. Grasping his hand, she smiled, and in one swift motion, she pulled him down close, capturing his lips.

He groaned with protest, but as expected, he fell into it, melted and satiated. His new lips still fit nicely, and his ardor never wavered, breaking through a wall that she’d assumed he’d built around himself.

“Now, how about we go shopping in 1940’s Paris?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, taking her arm. She snapped her fingers and the TARDIS doors opened.

She turned to him and smiled brightly into his relieved face. His initial gruff demeanor was starting to soften.

“You know, I rather like your new face,” she said. “The eyebrows are a little imposing, but at least I don’t appear as the older woman in the relationship anymore.”

END


	27. Sunflower Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd fought a monster that day, and then dreamed of Amy. Vincent Van Gogh ficlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "yellow" theme at who-contest on livejournal.

He went to bed that evening with new resolve. He'd defeated a monster that day, and he'd met the most wonderful people to ever enter his life. 

Running his fingers through his graying red hair, Vincent took one more look at the stars and saw the swirl of vibrant colors saturating his eyes, and he heard the song of them settle into the darkest parts of his mind, making them bright again. He watched a star cascade through the night sky and fade with one last winking twinkle.

He thought of the Doctor and Amy.

Mostly, he thought of Amy. Her red hair, her cheeky nature, and the vibrant colors that swirled around her as she followed the Doctor. He thought of her silent pain, feeling a kindred soul in her.

That night he settled into his bed, more confident than ever, riding an immeasurable high that fortified a barrier against his unpredictable madness.

He dreamed of her, the orange-haired woman with the crying eyes and a wicked smile. He felt her kiss on his cheek through his beard, and he dreamed of her lips on his mouth, her hands on his chest, and her pressure against him as she settled over him on his bed – emitting color, creating a new mesh of hues together with him.

He felt the loss of her almost immediately, wishing he'd wake up to new day with Amy running back to him, clamoring onto his stoop and pounding on the door with excitement, a beacon of yellows, blues and reds among the somber morning light. He could hear the Doctor's spaceship making that otherworldly noise as it went off back into space, leaving her to him.

If only she would change her mind. If only she had married him. They could share in their pain together. He could paint her colors, and she could hold him when the madness ate at his bones.

Instead, he rose in a bright morning to Amy's sunflowers. The absence of her presence was disheartening, but she left her mark on him. She inspired him when the days seemed longer, lonelier.

He turned back into his home, glanced warily at a half full bottle of wine they'd left, and he moved toward a fresh canvas. He organized his paints, brushes, and set up his easel, and he headed to the back yard. He delicately stroked the yellow petals of a sunflower, inspecting it and feeling an ache in his heart as he saw Amy's lovely smile in his mind. He gathered a handful of the flowers and sorted them into a vase.

Then, Vincent Van Gogh painted.


	28. Perfect Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's going to love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "click" prompt at femslash100 on Livejournal. Clara x Missy, series 8. Warnings for light consent issues.

The faint taste of coffee was on her lips, and her mind was in a haze. She’d been out for a latte, right? 

An impulsive woman had joined her. She was strange, and Clara remembered her wearing purple. The woman had been laughing, almost sinister. 

She’d heard a quick click, like a case being opened. She’d felt the surface of something slimy, something wormy, even.

“I knew you were perfect from the moment I saw you,” the woman whispered. “Those big, sad and wondrous eyes. That zeal for adventure.”

Clara felt fingers in her hair, petting and weaving - soft and sometimes fierce. Hot breath was on the shell of her ear. Lips were against her hair.

“He’s going to love you. A gift from me to him, the perfect companion.”

The dark haze fell over her mind like a warm blanket, but there was something eerie about this woman’s touch. Excitement crackled in the air, and the woman laughed again.

“My Clara,” the woman said, and she felt lips press against hers - hard like sealing an envelope - or packaged like a present. “See you soon,” she said, and darkness pulled at Clara's memories like a loose thread.


	29. Taste the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he kisses her, he swallows the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Sun" challenge at who-contest. Ninth Doctor. Rose Tyler. Nine/Rose. 440 words. "The Parting of Ways" ending.

When he kisses her, he swallows the sun.

All of time, all of space - death, life and rebirth all on the tip of her tongue, burning through his lips and teeth, tearing through the inside of his brain.The Bad Wolf, the signs he should have deduced - a warning all along, and also - a promise of hope.

In the midst of chaos, he can taste her - it’s lovely and sweet, and a breath of her humanity sings like a silent hum among the screams of stars and fates. The Vortex rips through him like fiberglass, stripping away at his anger, his fear, and his love.

He thinks that one kiss is what he deserves. It’s one last gift for saving Rose’s life. He knows the outcome even if she doesn’t. So he enjoys her lips beyond the energy coursing through him. He staggers from the force, but he still has enough strength to hold her, to feel her falter as their lips begin to part. 

Lightly - she falls softly against him as the burning consumes him. He hears her breath, and he knows that she’s okay.

 _You were fantastic,_ he thinks. That kiss - as dire and painful as it was - is worth it. 

Pain explodes through him, and he feels the energy begin to eat away at his body. _It’s just flesh,_ he muses. It’s just a body. He’s got a couple more in stock. He can take one for Rose.

 _Maybe I’ve had enough in this form,_ he thinks. One last kiss goodbye…

The energy doesn’t stay long, just enough to do the damage. He’s assumed the cost since he’d set his eyes on her lips, knowing what he has to do for her one last time. 

Secure in the TARDIS, he looks down to see Rose waking up. He’s already begun to sweat as he leans into the console, keying in commands to have the ship on a safer course. He doesn’t have much time left until the change takes place. He may have only a little chance to explain. 

Remnants of the Vortex still ache inside his dying body, and he has to put on an act for a bewildered Rose, just enough time to reassure her so she doesn’t panic.

Does he have time? He can already feel his flesh scorching inside. The Vortex leaves her mark, but his fail safe is kicking in.

He wonders what the next body will be like. He’ll remember, but it won’t be the same. Maybe he won’t remember much.

The Doctor just hopes that in his new life he at least remembers Rose’s kiss.


	30. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie holds back his feelings as Victoria says goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of "Fury from the Deep". Written for "compress" at dw100. Second Doctor Era. Characters: Jamie and Victoria. Word count: 100. Rated All Ages.

When Victoria chooses to stay behind, a pain forms inside Jamie’s chest — compressing his hidden emotions.

He feels like a coward. He can’t even tell Victoria how he really feels. Even when she’s crying— knowing that she doesn’t want to leave them but must. Oh, he knows her mind is made up, and he’s afraid if he says anything — _a confession even_ — nothing will change.

If he can just convince her with one kiss…

When they leave her, a dull ache settles within him — leaving him with terrible regrets that he knows will haunt him.


	31. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie can't help but enjoy the thrill of traveling with the Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "expectant" drabble theme at who_contest.

The thrill for adventure saturated his bones, and Jamie couldn’t imagine a life without it, not since meeting the Doctor anyway. 

He felt a sort of wild abandon in traveling with the Doctor. Though he would not mind just a moment of peace, as Victoria had often desired, he rather secretly enjoyed their strange and harrowing encounters.

The Doctor was not always pleased at Jamie’s affinity for violence, but Jamie knew he relied on it, and was often audibly grateful for Jamie throwing a punch or pushing back a looming menace. After all, he gave the Doctor time to devise one of his cunning plans to help people and bring them to safety.

When they helped others, even whole planets, Jamie found a pride in that, enraptured by the heroism.

Victoria, on the other hand, did not enjoy their sequential trips into danger, as the TARDIS dumped them to whatever or whenever parts of the universe to interfere - peacefully and with a good purpose, of course, as the Doctor would remind him.

Jamie didn’t mind enjoying adventure on Victoria’s behalf, but it was never good enough for her, and to his dismay, she’d had enough of the danger and had parted ways.

At least Jamie could continue to help the Doctor. Oh, the Doctor would never admit to needing Jamie’s protection in a pinch, but Jamie, as usual, charged forward to battle any foe anyway.

“Ah, take that ye beastie!” Jamie taunted his opponent. He was thrashing around in the mud, holding an alien in a headlock. As he, Zoe and the Doctor traveled through the woods of a lush planet, they were attacked by a hairy alien blob that was keen on making them all his dinner. Well, Jamie would have none of that.

“Careful, Jamie!” the Doctor yelled, and though Jamie was preoccupied, he could almost imagine the Doctor’s frustration at his fight with the alien. 

“RAWWWR,” came a noise out of the mass of mud of Jamie and the monster, and no one could be sure which had made the sound. When Jamie emerged victorious, Zoe and Doctor watched in relief as the blob whined in defeat and swam back down the muddy canal.

Jamie panted as he slowly waded back to shore, coming out of the waters covered head to toe in a dark, viscous slime. He met the Doctor’s eyes as Zoe shook her head. He grinned wildly, feeling the fire of battle still pulsating within his veins.

“Och, what a’ ole softy, that beastie was,” he said, and he looked to his companions and then down at his ripped shirt. He hadn’t realized the scrape had been that bad. 

“Come on, Jamie,” the Doctor said, and the three of them headed back toward the TARDIS. “Let’s get you into a proper shirt.”

“Yes, and maybe a bath,” Zoe chimed in, holding her nose.

“Hey! Aren’t ye gonna say thank you? I just risked my life for ye with that nasty mud-pile!” Jamie protested.

Amused, the Doctor beamed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jamie. Yes, thank you for saving our lives,” the Doctor said with a wink.

Zoe giggled, and Jamie just sighed. Either they were laughing at him, or the Doctor and Zoe were getting far too expectant of his ability to save them.


	32. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did he have to be the responsible one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Brilliance" challenge at who-contest on Livejournal. Characters: Eleventh Doctor, Rory, Amy. Series 5. 500 words. All ages.

He admitted, he'd been a bit afraid Amy would run off with this brilliant, dangerous man - leaving him behind and the loser of an unfair game.

At first, he'd only been this Imaginary Friend - a fairy story that someone must have told Amy when they were kids and it stuck - and too well. Of course, she'd always insisted he was real - and Rory liked her enough that he sort of believed. If he got to be with her, sure, the Raggedy Man was real.

Yet he was, and Rory didn't know if he was sorry for it. He'd entertained thoughts that maybe their lives would have been simpler without the Doctor showing up - without the Raggedy Man scooping up his Amy and changing their whole lives. Perhaps their lives would have been _safer_ too. (Rory had no doubt of that, of course.)

They'd been traveling with the Doctor for months, seeing wonders and unimaginable things. Jealousy was not far from Rory's mind when he watched Amy look at the Doctor, with wide eyes and bright smiles, ready to jump into danger at the first moment he said, "Come along, Ponds!"

Though as they traveled together more, Rory's initial feelings toward the Doctor started to subside. He started to understand why the Doctor brought him along too (instead of leaving him on Earth and stealing his bride-to-be away). So maybe he wasn't jealous of the Doctor, not much, but he was aggravated. He'd had this conversation with him before. The Doctor, in all his brilliance and offerings, could make _anyone_ do _anything_ \- walk through fire, shoot at someone, or fight an intergalactic monster! Nobody was safe! And sometimes Rory thought he was the only one on the adventure who saw that.

But he wasn't.

"Listen, Rory," the Doctor said to him in a low voice. He pulled Rory aside as Amy ran ahead, checking out the shops at the most recent alien planet they were visiting. "I'm counting on you."

Rory looked into the Doctor's eyes, searching for a deeper meaning within such vague words. Rory saw deep wisdom there, and even a bit of desperation. What did he mean? Counting on him to control her? Counting on him to keep her grounded when she wanted to go off half-cocked into some almost-certainly-fatal battle?

Rory paused, still searching within the Doctor's face and feeling his anger rise. Why did he have to be the responsible one?

"Wha...?" Rory swallowed. 

"To love her, silly! I'm counting on you to love her!" the Doctor said, and Rory's mouth gaped open as he looked ahead to Amy. She turned back, meeting his eyes and grinning. He jumped a little as the Doctor clapped a hand on his back - almost to push him forward. His feet moved to the melody of those words, and Rory went to her.

Her spirited smile halted him, and Rory understood the Doctor's words a lot clearer the moment Amy took his hand.


	33. Down, Down into the Lovely Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She can only soothe his pain for so long until the grief consumes him. River/Eleven, Amy/Rory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after "Angels take Manhattan". Written for the "down" drabble challenge for who_contest.

“Travel with me then,” he says to her. His hearts are breaking. She’s hurting _for_ him, trying to be distracted by the controls on the TARDIS.

“Whenever, wherever you want,” she says but adds, “But not all the time…”

She makes a joke, trying to ease his suffering, trying to make him smile. It doesn’t work. She mentions the book. He’s even more afraid to read the ending now, knowing he’ll be completely shattered by the words of his lost Amelia Pond.

\--

River’s company is a balm to a deep wound, but sometimes he feels it only eases the pain at the surface. Darkness lingers inside his brain, and he feels like he needs to stop resisting the misery. Maybe it’s his turn to stop running, to turn heel and charge forward. 

Maybe he’ll let the pain engulf him and drag him down. He’s lost Amy and Rory, and though River is by his side, their loss is only a reminder of what a fool he is, and how many he’s loved and lost before.

How many he keeps losing.

\--

She’s sighing underneath him, and he buries his face in her golden curls. That night they’ve come back from another adventure, and he’s laughing and enjoying the happy moments with her. She’s soothing him again, that wonderful woman, the daughter of his Ponds.

When they’ve run back to the TARDIS, he grabs her, turns her around against the console and kisses her. Passion erupts from beyond his gloom, and he tries to cut out his grief with a sensual knife - a distraction - desperate to bury himself inside her before time can make him think again. And remember.

River lets him.

\--

The Doctor gives in. He’s run away from his misery long enough. It starts to seep into his bones like black ink and whispers warnings in his head. Maybe he won’t ever travel with anyone again. 

Or, he’ll pick someone unimportant so it’ll hurt less when he inevitably loses them.

He drops River off at her prison cell, and most of the trip back has been silent. The loudest screams have been in his head. His own demons, warning him to never love anyone again. 

River stares at him, her eyes filled with worry. He’ll see her again, but not as much. Her time is coming close too, and like the ending of stories, he’d rather avoid the conclusion.

“Remember what I said. Don’t travel alone,” she says.

He nods automatically but hears the defiant laughter of his own demons drawing him down into the dark. He turns away, back into the TARDIS, leaving River to watch sadly as he departs. 

The TARDIS hums, and he feels that familiar sense of loneliness. He closes his eyes and lets his misery seduce him. His grief over the Ponds still feels fresh and red.

The TARDIS de-materializes and The Doctor sighs. Then, he welcomes the embrace of his sorrow - of his own self-torture - and allows the anguish to fully consume him.

END


	34. Violet Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd shot guns. He'd killed others. But he'd saved people too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the “Crawl” drabble challenge at who-contest on Livejournal. Characters: War Doctor, OFC; rated PG, 410 words.

A female voice beckoned him ahead. He grunted as he army-crawled behind her, staring at the dirty soles of her shoes as bombs and bullets crackled around them. Taking steady breaths, he hated the sensation of dirt and ash coating the inside of his mouth and slithering down his throat.

His ears buzzed, tired and raw from all the explosions that occurred near them. The Doctor looked upward sporadically to make sure bombs weren’t descending on top of them and to steal a glimpse of the two green moons that were hidden in the sky behind the billowing smoke and spaceship debris. He knew this planet had been a peaceful place at one time - before the invasion and death, where the moons had shown brilliantly and nobly in the sky with an incandescent green. 

Now, they were dull and overshadowed. Now they almost looked dead.

“Come on, the others are waiting over there. I see them,” said Aurla, his temporary companion at the moment. He saved her - sort of, coming upon her group of rebels as Daleks had ambushed them. Aurla was the only one left, a scared, anxious cadet who just watched her entire group, her superiors and comrades, exterminated right in front of her. Since she’d met the Doctor, he witnessed her fear harden into cold steel, and now she was fueled on survival - and the hope that she would reconnect with the next group of rebels to continue the fight.

And the Doctor had killed Daleks for her. He’d killed Daleks and loyalists to the Daleks (the fools) and spilled a lot of blood. He’d shot horrible guns that were native to this planet. He’d thrown away guns that had jammed. He’d picked up other weapons, bombs and lasers, all terrible tools that he’d deeply abhorred, and he’d used them in this war. 

It all made him wonder... Was he really the Doctor anymore? He had plenty of those kinds of ponderings - thoughts that he’d pushed deep down into his darkening soul, moving onward and knowing he was doing some good. 

He’d saved children that day. He’d saved Aurla. 

“Almost there,” she said, looking back at him, turning her head and meeting his eyes with her violet eyes. Beautiful ones, filled with fear and hope. 

And for those eyes the Doctor would fight. For those eyes he’d shoot another gun, knowing now in this miserable war, that he’d have to despite how much he loathed it.

END


	35. like you, our future is fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River can save him, but he must never know who she really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "future shock" theme at who-contest on Livejournal. River/Eight, takes place during "Diary of River Song" audio play, and during Eight's Time War experience. Rated All ages. Word Count: 500.

She has to be careful. She cannot meet him now, as he is, for he’s too optimistic and naive, too brittle from the beginning horrors of the Time War.

As much as River wants to cross paths and reveal herself to him, she cannot disrupt their timeline. She cannot shock him by revealing herself, altering their future forever. It’s tempting - well, it’s always _tempting_. But he doesn’t even know who she is yet. He’s too young - brilliant and wonderful, but young.

She still loves him, and she knows every moment they interact over the intercom that he’s feeling a connection with her too. She calls herself Ms. Spritz, a fake name to further the mystery. Instantly, as she has anticipated, he wants to come back for her after the danger is over. He wants to pick her up, possibly even ask her to travel with him. This incarnation was particularly good at that - jubilantly convincing others to come with him. 

But he’s not entirely jubilant now; he’s more cynical and sardonic. The Time War is doing that to him, which indicates to her that he’s nearing the end of this lifetime. He will become a lot lonelier, and a lot more aloof. This Doctor - the one she is saving now - needs her more than ever. He needs her touch, her hope and her strength.

Though, she can’t give him her touch. She can only save him as she is now.

She can feel the excitement in his voice as they speak, exchanging theories and coming up with clever ideas. Their connection runs deep, even backwards and forwards through time. Each second she hears his youthful voice, his clever words spilling over as he makes his way out of danger, she wants to give in and let him pick her up in his old Blue Box. Whisking her away into that Victorian-style TARDIS and bringing her along as he tries to mend and heal the wounds of the universe from the war.

It’s so tempting, and she’s seen this face - a handsome, romantic incarnation that she’s always longed to touch. Maybe she’ll be lucky someday and cross paths with him for real, to be in his presence and see his deep eyes roll over her form - sizing her up and implanting her into his fragile memory. Not like now, where they only interact over an unfeeling communication line. 

Will she be so lucky to touch this form of the Doctor’s like she has _her_ Doctor, the compassionate, clumsy and temperamental man she marries?

River wishes this more than anything, but as much as she wants to - she knows in her heart she can’t. Doing so will change their whole relationship, and knowing their luck, change the fabric of time and space as well.

Instead, she saves the Doctor again, but she does not stay behind to embrace him or reveal herself to him. With a weighted heart, River moves on without him, knowing someday soon, she’ll be back in her Doctor’s arms, as long as time and space allows.


End file.
